


Developed Tolerance for the Obscure

by onceuponamoon



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-03
Updated: 2011-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 15:58:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London grime is similar to Jersey grime, Gerard thinks, if not exactly the same only a few hundred miles or so across the Atlantic. (Gerard can’t be bothered with useless facts such as the distance between North America and Europe. No, thank you. <i>Delete</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Developed Tolerance for the Obscure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BadBottle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadBottle/gifts).



> My dear friend, Chels gave me five words (again): waistcoat, sprawl, paranoid, left, and violent. This is _very_ much so dedicated to her. (ENJOY IT, CHELS.) It’s vaguely similar to and inspired by BBC’s Sherlock. Also posted to LJ and Mibba. I am forever indebted to [s0ckpupp3t](http://archiveofourown.org/users/s0ckpupp3t/pseuds/s0ckpupp3t) because she is the most awesome beta anyone could ever ask for. Seriously.

_He tucks the fob chain back in through his waistcoat so that the golden gleam no longer reflects the violent shine of the sun into the greedy, watching eyes of those around him. He quickens his pace, flipping the collar of his overcoat up to shield his neck too. He takes a left and then another and then a right, attempting to escape their watching eyes through the dirty sprawl of London’s streets._

*

London grime is similar to Jersey grime, Gerard thinks, if not exactly the same only a few hundred miles or so across the Atlantic. (Gerard can’t be bothered with useless facts such as the distance between North America and Europe. No, thank you. _Delete_.) He slides two fingers across gray brick…red brick underneath, gray residue staining his fingers, merely the grime coating the alley. He pops them into his mouth. _Semen, feces, exhaust fumes, and cigar smoke, with traces of rose and lavender water._

“He stopped there to purchase flowers for his wife after spending the evening with his lover,” Gerard says, smacking his lips together, pointing across the street, and then wiping his finger on the inside of his overcoat. It was Frank’s anyway and he could afford to have it laundered if need be.

“ _Gerard_ , I look ridiculous…Can’t we just—”

Gerard silences Frank with a dismissive hand gesture and instead listens to the general hubbub of the citizens. His eyes scan the streets for more signs, more clues, evidence—eyes observing things usually unnoticed, things that people are too dense to realize give them away, especially whilst trying to conceal such secrets. Deducing, a skill that he seems to hold himself alone, at rates faster than simple minds can comprehend.

“He hailed a taxi here…”

“… _’Hailed’_ a taxi? What the fu—”

“Frank, please! You are ruining my concentration.” Palms together, Gerard bows his head and presses the tips of his joined index fingers to lips, his thumbs against the underside of his chin. He closes his eyes. He can hear Frank snicker, but then it blooms outward—the scuff of business shoes on pavement, dogs barking, people talking on cell phones, vendors shouting, cars, buses, taxis, and then—

Silence—fabricated, but silence nonetheless—as Gerard scrolls through locations, objects, facial expressions, and—

“Oh, that was too easy,” Gerard says, sounding resigned. His shoulders even slump a little. “Way too easy.” He throws his shoulders back and starts in on a quick jog, hanging a left and then finally hearing Frank follow while muttering curses under his breath.

*  
“I honestly don’t know how you do it, Way, but whatever you’re doing, keep up the good work. I’ll call you soon with a new assignment.”

Gerard rolls his eyes. Because of course nobody understands, the simple minded ignoramuses. “Yes, Chief.” He ends the call, throwing Frank’s cell phone down onto Frank’s lap. “You need to charge that,” he mutters absentmindedly, already intent on sulking on the sofa until the next case is given to them.

“I—you, what?” Frank splutters for a moment and then relaxes, shaking his head to himself. “I don’t know why I still let that surprise me…”

“Me taking your phone without your knowledge or the fact that I know it needs to be charged? It is a rechargeable device, Frank,” Gerard stalks to the couch, across from Frank’s chair, turns and sits, drawing his knees up under his chin. He observes Frank, who looks relaxed with his waistcoat unbuttoned, tie loosened, and sleeves rolled to the elbows. “I would hope that that doesn’t surprise you every time.”

Face morphing into an unamused smile and a quirked brow, Frank closes his eyes and leans into the back of his chair. It’s plush enough to provide him comfort after a ridiculously long afternoon. “Very funny, Gerard.”

The left corner of Gerard’s mouth pulls upward into a slight smirk. Then he abruptly stands and stalks toward the door. “I am starved! Are you hungry?” He pulls his coat from the hook and slides his arms into the material, mindful of the grit he’d previously wiped. Then he pulls Frank’s and holds it open.

“Can’t we change first? I look ridiculous, Ger—”

Gerard impatiently shakes the overcoat and makes a _No, now_ face.

Frank rolls his eyes, but stands anyway.

*

It only takes four days of waiting (which is filled with mostly intense pacing, whining, and destruction on Gerard’s part and profound patience on Frank’s part) until Chief Toro calls with the next case while Frank is out to buy groceries.

Frank had left for approximately forty-five minutes and by the time he’s returned, Gerard had managed to turn the apartment inside out—the stuffing has been pulled from the couch so that all of the springs have been exposed, the antique samurai sword that was hanging above the mantel is wedged into the kitchen table, and Frank is positive that those are _bullet holes_ in the wall. In the shape of a smiley face.

“Gerard, what—why—is that?” Frank can’t breathe. “I’m going out.”

“No! Frank, wait, wait, wait,” Gerard says, rushing from Frank’s bedroom into the living area. His hair is ruffled and he’s back in his suit—vest and everything. He looks positively _delighted_ , eyes alight with what Frank is now sure is absolute glee. “Chief Toro has given us quite the pleasant surprise! Would you like to guess what it is? Who am I kidding, I’ll just tell you—it’s a case! A case, Frank!” He’s gripping Frank by the shoulders, shaking them so hard it’s jostling his brains.

Flailing his arms out, Frank detaches himself from Gerard and takes approximately two steps backward. “But why—”

“We haven’t the time for nonsense, Frank! Put on your suit—time is wasting!”

And then Gerard is back to _thinking_ , which Frank thinks could possibly even worse than Gerard waiting.

*

They arrive to the docks at half past eight. The sun has already set, and the ethereal glow around Big Ben causes a shiver to worm down Frank’s spine, although that may be in part due to way the wind is a ghost—present and chilly across his neck, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Gerard throws him a glance, which Frank returns with a curt shake of his head.

The body they’re examining is swollen, blue and grimy—positively disgusting, yet Gerard looks more enthralled than ever. This used to be a man with a job and a family. _People loved this man_ , Frank thinks, and then that gleam in Gerard’s eye makes Frank’s stomach drop and the heat of anger flare through his skin.

“This is useless. All of the evidence washed away hours ago,” Chief Toro says, not even bothering to keep the whiny dejection out of his voice. He nudges the swollen foot of the corpse with his shoe, and Frank can see the indentions where the pebbles have punctured the tumescent flesh.

Gerard makes a noise in his throat—an _oh, ho, not quite, my simple-minded superior_.

Frank turns and looks at him, flapping a hand. “Go ahead, show us your fuckin’ magic,” he mutters. And Gerard looks seriously, intensely happy that Frank gave him that permission. By the end of it, Frank has gathered that Gerard has about twelve different hypotheses about exactly who has done this and where, when, why, how and then narrowed that down based on the tide level, the smell of the Thames and the volume of gravel in the corpse’s mouth. Frank can’t help but gape. “Brilliant.”

Then Gerard has the nerve to blush. “You really think so?” he asks, looking at Frank from under his lashes, a dark line against the paleness of his cheeks.

“Of course,” Frank says earnestly, all previous disdain vanished.

*

By the time they’ve returned to the flat, the awe Frank had been feeling has subsided and the anger has boiled over to the surface again. “Did that really mean nothing to you? The fact that that man, only twenty-four hours ago was probably enjoying a dinner with his wife, or his girlfriend or his fucking _cat_!” Frank is mad. “I don’t see how you can act so…blasé all the goddamn time!”

Gerard resumes hanging his coat on the hook, barely even batting a lash at Frank’s sudden outburst. His face is steeled though, suddenly dark and serious, eyes nearly black. “You think I don’t realize that he had a name, and parents and a family and a job? Do you think I’m not capable of _feeling_ , Frank?”

Frank had never realized that Gerard was actually taller than him. And now he’s looming over him, tall and looking strangely waifish.

“I _do_ care. Because yes,” he says, jaw a tight line. Gerard’s voice is nothing more than a low grumble, close and intense. “One man died, but if we catch this guy, think of how many we’ll be _saving_. We can save so many lives, Frank.”

 _Well, fuck_. Frank drops his eyes and fights the blush he feels blossoming across the bridge of his nose. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess you’re right.”

Then, just like that, Gerard’s back to normal, clasping his hands together with renewed vigor. “Well,” he chirps. “We have research to do.” And then he promptly occupies himself with Frank’s laptop for the rest of the evening.

*

Frank has decided that he is no longer a big fan of the London Bridge, or any London architecture for that matter, because it is currently raining in plumes of fire and smoke around him, as the abandoned station he and Gerard occupy on the south end belches flame after flame into the sky like an angry dragon, and the River Thames is too far away from this unbearable heat.

Gerard’s eyes are wide, horrified as if he can’t believe that _yes, that bomb_ did _explode before we got out_ , and _yes, it was a trap_ and _yes, we will die if we don’t get out_. Frank jostles Gerard’s shoulder, harshly, shouting in his face as more of the building collapses around them. He doesn’t even know what he’s screaming; he just knows that Gerard is frozen with fear and Frank needs to get them _out_.

Finally, Gerard is upright, knees buckling as another explosion—possibly one of the gas lines—shatters the first floor windows and half of the building’s frame crumples.

 _A flight of stairs_ , Frank tells himself, hooking his arm tighter around Gerard’s middle as he rights them again. _A flight of stairs and then we can make it. A flight of stairs and then we can be safe._

Halfway down, the stairs begin to practically melt beneath their feet, crumbling to ash as the support beams crackle and smolder from the heat of another blast. “Jump!” he hears, and Frank doesn’t know if that was his own voice or if Gerard has somehow found his again. Nevertheless, Frank jumps and his fingers are still tight in Gerard’s vest as they launch the ten feet it takes to clear the crumbling staircase. Another explosion rocks them to their feet—Frank hears the building groan again and he’s pretty sure that’s the roof caving. “C’mon!”

Somehow they’ve landed and after a few seconds of picking themselves up once again, Frank pulls Gerard close to his chest, just as a beam crashes down in his place. They choke on the billowing ash, but somehow Frank gets them out through one of the busted windows and then they’re collapsed but a few yards away, gasping and suffocating on the overwhelming influx of oxygen.

Gerard coughs and hacks so hard that Frank is positive a portion of his lung will be on the ground if he were able to look. But Frank is slumped over too, practically gagging on the air as he heaves for breath. Sweat drips down his temple and he finally opens his eyes. Gerard’s looking over at Frank, eyes wide as he shuffles closer, still choking on the smoke. “F- _Frank_ ,” Gerard rasps, reaching toward him.

Meeting him halfway, Frank digs his fingers into Gerard’s arms, clutching tightly. Then Gerard’s hands are on Frank’s face, pulling him close, gasping into his mouth, hazel shining as he pets over his skin, nails catching on the scruff, like he’s saying, “ _You’re alive, you’re okay, thank god._ ”

Taking in a huge breath, Frank vows to give up smoking. If he never sees another flame again, it’ll be too soon.

*

By the time the EMTs give them an all clear and Chief Toro has gotten every last detail out of Gerard, Frank is about ready to fall apart at the seams. He’s exhausted, but the way Gerard keeps looking at him from the opposite side of the cab has Frank’s skin crawling over his bones. It’s tearing him into pieces and he can’t breathe.

Fingers trembling, Frank can barely keep a grasp on the key long enough to unlock the door. After the third time he drops it, Gerard steps in, too close behind him, and plucks it from the concrete with his long, precise fingers. He’s pressed along Frank’s back, turning the doorknob with a quick flick of the wrist before he presses his palm to the surface of the wood over Frank’s head.

The door gives under the slight pressure, creaking as it swings inward and Gerard is still close to Frank—silent, but Frank can feel the intensity of his gaze and he can’t stop shaking. Frank steps forward, nearly tripping over the sill, but Gerard’s hand is warm and solid around his bicep. Frank turns to face Gerard—and just like that he’s being pressed against the door, knob jamming into his ribs as Gerard uses Frank to shut the door and presses their mouths together in a quick, desperate kiss.

He crowds in, framing Frank with his body, and then pulls his mouth back, resting his forehead against Frank’s. He’s breathing shallowly against Frank’s lips and Frank can taste the smoke.

“Frank,” Gerard breathes; the most solemn of prayers. “You saved my life.” His eyes are shining, the hazel agonizingly clear and his voice is burning with sincerity. “ _Thank you._ ”

Frank makes a high keening sound, surging against Gerard’s mouth as he fists his hands into Gerard’s shirt. A moan is muffled against Frank’s lips, but then he parts them, invites Gerard closer as he wraps his arms up around his back and presses their chests together. Gerard’s tongue is hot and tastes like ash.

The pressure on Frank’s chest increases as Gerard slouches forward, knocking Frank’s head back against the solidness of the door. He grunts and then Gerard rocks his hips down, hardness pressing tight against Frank’s. Gerard pulls back, looking in Frank’s eyes again, earnest in his smirk as he pulls them away and begins pushing Frank through the entry and into the hall.

Whining in the back of his throat, Frank grips Gerard around the forearms as his slacks rub unforgivingly against his hardness. A low grumble rises from Gerard’s chest and he shoves Frank hard against the hallway wall, and a clash resonates as a framed picture (of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, himself) falls from the wall and the glass shatters over the wood flooring, but it’s far enough away that they ignore it in favor of Frank’s keen as Gerard locks his fingers into the hollows between the bones in Frank’s wrists.

Gerard bends, scraping his open mouth across Frank’s neck as he pins Frank’s wrists against the wall over their heads. Something similar to a growl bursts from Gerard’s throat, vibrates his teeth as they sink into the malleable flesh of Frank’s throat. “Frankie, Frankie, Frank,” he mutters over and over again.

Heat flashes through Frank’s stomach at hearing his name so rough between Gerard’s lips, tight against his own skin. He struggles—trying to break free, get some leverage, surge closer, assert his dominance, _something_ , but he can’t. Gerard tightens his grasp around Frank’s wrists and uses his entire body to hold him to the wall, their erections rubbing hot against one another through the thin fabric of their slacks. And it’s so good that Frank can’t help but moan, throwing his head back as Gerard bites at his collarbone and thrusts forward.

Shaky breaths swell as their hips undulate, Gerard forcing Frank back against the wall and it’s almost too much already. Gerard presses his face into the curve of Frank’s neck, rubbing it back and forth over the sweaty skin as Frank swallows and tries to catch his breath and rut forward into Gerard’s thrusts. His stomach is already coiling tightly and he lets out a tense, “ _Ah!_ ” as his knees buckle.

Gerard hefts Frank back upright, dropping a wrist in lieu of an arm around his back, and he knocks their hips back together and pants into Frank’s face. “Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he grunts. And not even a moment later, he lets them collapse, right in the middle of the corridor and Gerard thumbs into Frank’s wrists, yanking them above Frank’s head to sink against the wood. “Fuck,” Gerard says again, and Frank bucks his hips up again, writhing hard under Gerard.

“Yes, yes, please,” Frank whines. “Please, Gerard, I need…I _need_ —”

As soon as Gerard releases Frank’s wrists, he’s yanking at his own suit and Frank’s hands join his, frantically pulling at the buttons as Gerard keeps tilting his hips and rubbing over Frank. And Frank can’t take it—knows he won’t last long enough to even pretend. He just fists his hands in the fabric over Gerard’s chest, eyes wide as his mouth gapes and his back arches, hips jutting up off of the floor. Gerard gets it, too; he presses his palms to Frank’s chest, digging his fingers in and scraping them down across Frank’s nipples as Frank bucks up to meet his thrusts.

“Ngh, _fuck_!” Frank grits, teeth clenched tight as his eyes screw shut. Gerard writhes harder, slumping down over Frank so that their chests are pressed together, moving only at the hips. “Yesyesyesyes—” Frank feels that he might _die_ , so he grips Gerard by his jaw and smashes their mouths together so that he’s whimpering directly into Gerard’s grunts and then—

Frank is coming so hard that he sees nothing but white as the pleasure explodes behind his lids and he goes silent and shakes through it, his mouth agape until he heaves in a breath and stutters out a groan that echoes down the hall. His slacks are slick and tacky with come and Gerard’s erratic motions make it more than overwhelming until he goes still over Frank, trembling violently while he yelps out a harsh, choked off noise as his mouth slides against Frank’s jaw. Frank feels the heat bloom where they’re joined and he can’t help letting out a weak moan at the feeling.

Gerard completely relaxes, still fully blanketing Frank, and Frank is smoothing is hands over Gerard’s back as they catch their breath. His face turns, rubbing into the stretch of Frank’s neck, and Gerard presses his lips there, mouthing into the flesh. “Thank you, Frank.”

Frank tightens his grip around Gerard’s back and breathes, “Anytime,” into his hair.


End file.
